The garbage can is too charitable of a place to put “The Murder of Nicole Brown Simpson.” It ought to be fired straight into the sun and disintegrated.

Although “The Sonata” doesn’t charge authoritatively like an earth-shaking juggernaut, it nevertheless gets the job done as a competently casual creeper.

If you’re an Eddie Marsan fan at all, you’ll be thoroughly riveted by the performance he puts up here. If you’re not already a Marsan fan, “Feedback” might make you one.

“In the Tall Grass” isn’t in the top third of Stephen King stories, so it tracks that the film wouldn’t land in the highest tiers of King adaptations either.

You might consider “Do Not Reply” to be the comparatively tamer made-for-cable alternative to the “online predator” and “homemade dungeon imprisonment” premises.

Clearly the offspring of a compromised vision, “Riot Girls” smacks of imagination sold scandalously short.

“Eli” really does epitomize both the mediocrity and the malaise associated with Netflix’s assembly line of middle ground “meh” movies.

“Crawl” giddily uses our heroes as pincushions to poke, prod, and pull apart like a freckle-faced kid dementedly playing Marquis de Sade with a lightning bug.

Funniness flies in your face fast and furiously from the first frame of “Little Monsters” all the way through its end credits song.

“Boredom makes men to villains,” says Willem Dafoe’s irritable lantern keeper. It also makes men wish they had chosen to watch anything other than “The Lighthouse.”

Riley’s oddly prophetic line, “we’re not inspiring people, we’re pissing people off” became unfortunately true for “Black Christmas” too.

A short and sweet take suffices for a short, sometimes savage, but start-to-finish entertaining endeavor such as “Harpoon.”

“The Furies” can’t even be described as a ‘steak and potatoes’ slasher. It’s all meat and no vegetables.

You’d be hard pressed to designate “Doctor Sleep” as anything other than a directorial success as far as an achievement to ambition ratio goes.

No matter how much I mull over “Wounds,” I’m no closer to concluding whether Armie Hammer’s performance is brilliantly bland by design or just boringly blah.

Aster delights in deliberately trolling “it’s not horror!” TruFans who exhaustingly reduce his “adore it or abhor it” aesthetics into supposed evidence of overhyped boredom.

The movie mushes around unconscious content like Play-Doh while only making vague shapes of tangible storytelling.

Whether it’s uncreative kills, cursory characterizations, or totally telegraphed beats, “Ready or Not’s” real issue is that it doesn’t put any inventive spins on standards setups.

This was doomed to be detonated as a total bomb from the get-go, and I’m flabbergasted anyone could have believed otherwise.

“Resin” demands to speak in its own voice. What it says might be music for some, but will sound like harsh screeches for others.